Now or Never
by Hat as a Madder
Summary: Resolute; resolution.


_**Now or Never  
**by AnnaSmiles95_

**

* * *

Setting the Stage:** There was a mass funeral for all of the victims following the Battle, but Hermione and Ron didn't converse, other than the usual friendly remarks. Hermione then went away for a month to be with her parents. She has just returned to the Burrow when this story begins.

* * *

_"Hang on a moment!" said Ron sharply. "We've forgotten someone!"_

_"Who?" asked Hermione._

_"The house-elves, they'll all be down in the kitchen, won't they?"_

_"You mean we ought to get them fighting?" asked Harry._

_"No," said Ron seriously, "I mean we should tell them to get out. We don't want anymore Dobbies, do we? We can't order them to die for us—"_

_There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione's arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet._

_"Is this the moment?" Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. "OI! There's a war going on here!"_

_Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other._

_"I know, mate," said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, "so it's now or never, isn't it?"_

Hermione sat on Ginny's bed, for the first time actually allowing herself to remember. It was probably the most wonderful memory of her life. It _was_ the most wonderful memory of her life.

She recalled how much Ron's caring for the house-elves had meant to her. She thought, proudly, of how brave she'd been, abandoning all reason and kissing him. She remembered the smell of his hair; the warmth of his body; the taste of his lips…

He'd responded so eagerly that she didn't know what to make of it."Now or never," he'd said. That phrase had haunted Hermione's dreams. There was, of course, the pleasant thought that the battle had driven him to finally admit his feelings for her. There was also the rational, reasonable, and therefore Hermione-approved reason: Ron was about to die, and he wanted his last memory to be of kissing _someone_. Not Hermione herself, just someone.

Hermione cried easily. More than anyone else she knew. She hated it about herself; it made her feel so weak, so vulnerable. She started to cry now, thinking of how she had been foolish to even dream that Ron could ever love her back.

How could Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, ever fall in love with him in the first place? It was a mystery to her, at times, moments where she could point out every single flaw Ron possessed. Then there were the times when she _did_ point out every flaw he possessed to herself, and proceeded to elaborate on how much each one of them made her love him.

She, on the other hand, was obviously not easy to love. She was bookish—that was undeniable. She knew nothing at all about Quidditch. She'd heard of girls pretending to know about sports in order to get the guy; too bad Ron knew her so well. She had the bushiest, frizziest, hugest hair imaginable. Her eyes and hair were both the same boring brown.

Ron, though, was her exact opposite. He was free-spirited. He was so Quidditch obsessed that it was ridiculous. Though both were very opinionated, Ron continued the argument needlessly, while Hermione made her points terse. He had the most gorgeous and blindingly red hair she'd ever seen. The rest of the Weasleys, people claimed, had the same color hair. She disagreed; no one could hold a handle to Ron's. His eyes were a beautiful color, as well. They were blue. Not the twinkling, icy color of the Dumbledore family. Not similar to any eyes she could think of, actually. They were a dark blue, almost grey. They were Ron-colored.

Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and the sound of Ginny's voice.

"Hermione? Can I come in?" she asked. Her voice was happy, a stark contrast to Hermione gloomy, self-depreciating thoughts. She must've spent the day with Harry. They were lucky; there was no unrequited feeling in _that_ relationship.

"Oh, yes, of course," Hermione replied, albeit a bit shakily. She wiped her eyes, reached for her wand, and muttered, "_Alohomora_."

The lock clicked open, and Ginny walked in, humming. She was so joyful that it was sickening. Hermione excused herself, mumbling an excuse about being hungry.

As she left, Hermione looked around. It was rather late, come to think of it. Everyone was in bed. She looked at her watch and saw that it was one in the morning. Brilliant; now that stupid and infuriating (-ly lovely) boy was making her unable to sleep.

She decided she'd head to the kitchen. After all, that was where she told Ginny she'd go. As she walked away from Ginny's room, it grew steadily darker. She lit her wand, using a nonverbal spell just so she'd have something to concentrate on in order to distract her.

The wand light was a bit faint. She'd noticed that with her current sorrowful state of mind, her magic seemed weaker. She was sure it was just in her head, as no one had commented, but the fact remained that she lacked her usual confidence in spell work.

The glowing tip of her wand threw strange shadows on the wall as she approached the kitchen. Habitually, she looked around the room before she entered. She'd always thought this stupid; the threat was over! But, she saw, gasping for breath, there was indeed a figure seated at the overlong kitchen table.

Her left hand flew to her mouth, and her right hand cast a shield charm that met the other figure's in midair. The light of the two spells threw her opponent into sharper relief. She caught sight of fiercely red hair and glowing eyes, and immediately lowered her wand.

"Oh," she said, feeling it was the understatement of the century. She became aware that she was shaking. Ron hesitantly took her hand.

"Sorry," he told her, sitting and pulling her down next to him. "I guess I'm just a bit overexcited." He grinned. "I guess you are, too."

"Yes, I think wars can do that," Hermione said, but regretted it at once. Ron brushed it off.

"I suppose they can," he agreed. "So why are you up this late?"

"Why are _you_ up this late?" she countered.

"I asked you first, and it's none of your business," Ron said defensively. Seeing her typically indignant and furious face, he paused. "I—I had a bad dream," he admitted, looking sheepish.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione felt bad for her flash of anger.

"Well," he began, obviously thinking of a way out of it, "Only if you tell me why you looked so depressed."

"I was not _depressed_ over you! I don't get _depressed_ over anything!" she said vehemently, irritated that he'd noticed her long face. She then put her hand over her mouth, realizing her thoughtless exclamation basically told Ron that she was crying over him.

Ron looked thoroughly bewildered. "I, er… sorry?" he asked hopefully.

"Never mind," she said, glad he hadn't made a big deal out of her faux pas. "So, tell me about your nightmare."

"I'd rather not, 'Mione," he said, the trademark blush visible even in the dim light.

"Ron, it's always better to talk about these things," she said, wanting both to help him and change the subject. "Was it, er, giant spiders again?"

This time he laughed, albeit bitterly. "Definitely not spiders; there are scarier things."

Hermione, sensing his discomfort, attempted a weak joke. "I thought the fearless Ronald Weasley had no enemies but the spawn of Aragog?"

He simply shook his head, not even attempting to make her think she was funny. "Nice try," he said smugly. "But jokes are best left to the masters."

Hermione punched him playfully; happy they'd settled back into their familiar friendly bickering. What she hadn't expected was for Ron to go back to their previous subject.

"Look, you were honest with me," he said, looking as though he regretted it already. "So I guess I should be with you."

Hermione smiled kindly, nodding encouragingly when he faltered. "It was about Malfoy Manor," he told her, shuddering slightly despite the warm summer air.

"Oh, Ron, I can't imagine what it was like," she said. "You, and Harry, Luna, and Mr. Ollivander didn't know if you'd make it out of the cellar." She shook her head. If Dobby hadn't come to rescue them, she might as well have died.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes. He looked rather angry as he continued, "If _we_ had gotten hurt?"

"Well, yes, Ronald," Hermione said, taken aback.

"Who _did_ get hurt, though, Hermione? Think about yourself for once!" he said exasperatedly.

Unconsciously, she touched the faint scar on her neck. "But Ron, I knew I was in pain. There was nothing I could do about it. But with you, I—I didn't know. Ron, I don't like not knowing things."

"But why would you care about what happens to _me_ more than yourself?" Ron asked.

"Why would you have a nightmare about Malfoy Manor if not about yourself?" Hermione countered.

Ron stammered. Hermione grinned triumphantly, her subconscious realizing what this meant. Her conscious brain, however, it being so late and the past few months so long, did not catch on so quickly.

"Why would you?" she asked, almost to herself.

Ron, being his typical self, blushed brilliantly. She loved it when he blushed. Hermione could've kissed him right there. So, she did—on the cheek, of course.

"You're fine, Ron, if you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to," she told him, sighing.

Ron dazedly touched the spot where Hermione had kissed him. Hermione couldn't suppress a small giggle as he turned to face her, mouth open in a comical 'O.' He shook his head, and seemed to come to.

"No, no, I want to talk about it," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Okay, well, so I really don't. I really just want to snog you again. And make sure this time it's not because of my house-elf gallantry." He paused, and grinned smugly when he saw that she was beaming. "I want this time to be because of my charm and good looks."

"And because I love you," Hermione said, blushing at her boldness. Ron lost his former arrogant attitude and stared at her, mouth agape once again. "You know, you're supposed to say something back, Ronald."

"Thank you, 'Mione," he said, teasing. Apparently his joking manner wasn't approved of, so when Hermione glared at him, he added, "I love you, too. Honestly, woman, you call yourself bright!"

"Now or never," she said, while Ron looked at her quizzically. "You have a choice. You can kiss me now, or kiss me never. I don't want to wait anymore."

Ron, looking almost comically eager, leaned in to kiss her for the second (but certainly not last) time in their life. Hermione liked this kiss better than their first. It wasn't rushed by an impending fight, but slow, passionate. The pair wasn't unsure of their standing; they were in love.


End file.
